


Whispering

by startwithsparks



Series: The Sparrow and the Wolf [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, Blindness, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-12
Updated: 2012-06-12
Packaged: 2017-11-07 15:37:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/432740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/startwithsparks/pseuds/startwithsparks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During her first days in Braavos, a blind Arya Stark is found by an old friend, where promises are made and lines crossed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Whispering

Arya crouched near the end of a bridge, one of the many in Braavos, her back pressing against the cold stone behind her and her knees tucked up to her chest. The city started to go quiet some time ago and she knew that it must be dark now, even if that darkness made no difference to her. The first day she woke up blind had been jarring, one of the most frightening things she'd ever experienced. Through everything that she'd gone through, she was always able to fend for herself – whether when she was on her own in King's Landing, or protecting herself and her friends in Harrenhal. But now she had to learn to do without her main defense – her ability to see, and avoid, the danger that might come her way – and maybe that was the point.

She wasn't so naïve to think that this was just a random, unexplained blindness. They had done this to her as part of her training, which meant that at some point she would either pass or fail the test. She couldn't know what they expected of her or when this would come to an end. She didn't know if this ailment would run its course, or if she had to prove herself to regain her sight. Most troubling, she didn't know if they would leave her like this should she end up failing the test. All she could do was assume and hope, and Arya had a lot of hope saved up, that she had the right idea.

So she learned her way around the city by any means necessary, learning each bridge by the engravings on the stone, the smell and sound – whether it be fish or bread or ale in the air, or the clamor of merchants peddling their various wares, the swords of the bravos clattering together, or music and revelry. She'd found, in the few short days she'd been exploring, that people treated the blind as if they were dumb as well, as if someone with a sound mind couldn't possibly allow themselves to lose their sight. Arya almost felt insulted, and might have if it hadn't given her the opportunity to simply listen.

Mostly she heard only the day-to-day murmur of the city, but at times there were pieces of gossip that came her way, names and voices that she stowed away to pair with faces later. She learned which merchants were running shady deals and who of note visited the courtesans, she knew that they could be valuable resources themselves. There were a lot of things to keep track of, but Arya spent her childhood memorizing stories in such vivid detail that she could recite them almost immediately. She put that skill to use now, tucking away even the most insignificant pieces of information, not knowing what would prove useful any more than she knew when she'd get her sight back.

But there was nothing more to hear now that most people had shut themselves inside for the night, and Arya knew she should start trying to make her way back as well before any of the more unsavory sorts started making their way into the street. This was different from being on her own in King's Landing – there she didn't have to worry about drunk men with swords willing to pick a fight with anything that moved, unarmed or not, and she was an easy target now. As she was about to push herself up from where she crouched, however, she felt the hair on the back of her neck bristle and stopped suddenly. She hadn't heard anyone come up to her but she could feel someone now, lingering in front of her, blocking the cool breeze off the canal.

Her heart raced, but she didn't move, staring straight ahead as if there was nothing in front of her at all. It wasn't until she heard the rustle of fabric, someone kneeling in front of her, that she recoiled and pressed harder against the bridge behind her. She could smell him – not _bad_ , just heavy and close – and now she could feel him staring back at her. Arya wasn't afraid, not of anything, but there was something eerie and uncomfortable about having someone so close without being able to see them. 

"A girl should not be out by herself after dark," the man murmured.

Arya felt like her heart seized up in her chest. The tension bled out of her muscles and she looked up towards the sound of his voice, milk-white eyes wide and hopeful. It wasn't _his_ voice, it wasn't really even his presence, but he chose to make himself known to her in this way and she had to believe it was him. She came here looking for a safe place to disappear, but there had always been the hope that she would see him again. 

"I couldn't tell," she answered, her voice low but strong. 

She heard him kneel, his knee bumped up against the front of her leg, and he shift closer to her. Reaching out, she pressed her fingertips to his face, the only way she knew how to tell who it was. They brushed along his jaw, over his cheekbone, and down his nose, before finally letting her hands fall away with a disappointed sigh. It might have been him, but it wasn't _him_ , not the way she wanted, not the way she remembered. 

"Does this face not bring you favor, lovely girl?" he asked, a trace of confusion, maybe even disappointment in his voice. 

Arya shrugged, "It's not your face."

"Nor was the one you remember," he retorted. 

Frowning, she tugged her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them again, resuming her position from before. "You took it off," she shrugged, "you can put it back on again." And while it might not have necessarily been that easy, she knew that, in her mind there was no reason to complicate it more than that. He wanted something, or else he wouldn't be here, and she wanted something in return. Even if she couldn't see him, she knew it wasn't him – it wasn't the man she knew – and nothing could change that. 

"This is not so easy," he finally replied after what must have been a moment's consideration. He didn't move, he didn't so much as flinch as far as Arya could tell.

"Why?"

"Because," he sighed, "Jaqen H'ghar is dead. A man cannot return from the dead. Now come."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "I don't know you." 

She heard him chuckle and could almost feel the smile that came with it. She knew that smirk, and she wondered how different it looked on this new face, and was surprised at the pang of regret that answered the thought. "A girl learns quick..." he said. "Come." 

Trying to look firmly at him, Arya made no attempt to move. He breathed another heavy sigh and moved to kneel with both knees on the stone in front of her. He reached forward, grabbed her by the wrists, and pressed both her hands to his face again. "Come," he breathed, voice imploring now, and as he let go of Arya's wrists, she could feel that his cheekbones were higher, his jaw narrower, his nose smooth and thin again. She wanted to throw herself into his arms, but instead she let her fingers slide back into his hair, wrapping around a chunk of loose curls where she remembered there was a strand of silver.

"It is there," he answered before she had time to ask, and Arya finally managed a smile up at him. 

He gathered her hands in his again, and pulled back, helping her to her feet with one strong hand placed on her side. Relieved that she didn't have to make her way back to the temple on her own, and feeling a strange kind of excited that he was there with her again, Arya clung to his sleeve and allowed him to steer her safely back over the bridge. 

"A man has been gone quite a long time," he said as they walked, letting her hold on to his arm without any fuss. "He does not remember the last time someone surprised him like this."

"A good surprise?" Arya asked hopefully.

He reached over and squeezed her hand, "Yes, a good surprise." 

"Where were you?" 

He hummed, she felt his arm rise slightly with a shrug. "A man had business to finish," he said. "It was time. And now I return, no longer burdened by deals made with ghosts."

Arya smirked, feeling the bridge slope down again under her feet before they turned to make their way along the pier. "How do you make a deal with a ghost?" 

"A girl asks too many questions," he laughed.

"A girl is learning, remember?" 

"Ah..." Jaqen clicked his tongue softly. "Many men are ghosts, they are only waiting for their bodies to realize what their minds already know; but that was not my gift to give, it belonged to someone else." 

Arya went quiet for a moment, she felt suddenly like she already knew the answers to all the other questions she wanted to ask. There was a strange twist in her gut, like guilt and comfort all at once. So instead she asked, "Who did he pay you to kill?" 

The silence lingered, and Arya wished more than anything she could see his face and know what he was trying to hide. The answer she so desperately wanted was there on his face and she couldn't see it. She knew that she wouldn't always be able to see someone's face when they spoke, that she would have to find her answers where they hid between his words, but she didn't _want_ to, not with this. Finally he drew in a deep breath and turned her towards the stairs to the temple, "The one who would have him killed." 

Arya bit her tongue and nodded, that was all she needed. She hadn't been sure if her kneejerk assumption was completely off-base or not, but his hesitation combined with the vague way he phrased his answer told her everything she needed to know. She _wanted_ to know more, of course, but she wouldn't get it out of Jaqen either way. She couldn't say if this would make adjusting to life here any easier, but it meant a lot to her - not only that he told her, but that he was the one who did it. 

Again, she felt the ground slope beneath her, and she knew they were rounding the side of the temple, making their way down to one of the lower passageways. Jaqen continued to walk silently next to her, at least until they got to the door, and then untangled himself to open it for her. Arya could hear the faint crackle of fire, the sound of water trickling in to the baths beyond, and in the streets beyond the temple there was the clamor of swords. Just in time, it seemed, she drew in towards the warmth of the temple and waited to feel his presence behind her again before she continued. He let her lead, walking a step behind with his hand pressed gently between her shoulders while her hands trailed lightly along the wall. She counted torches, doorways, letting her fingertips skim each one, the sound of Jaqen's boots keeping time. 

But before she was even halfway to her room, he rest his hand heavy on her shoulder and stopped her. "Wait," he said, and left her standing in front of a door while he turned down another corridor. She thought she knew which door this was, tracing the moon burned into the wood with her palms, and then sliding down to the handle. When she heard footsteps coming towards her again, she turned and pressed against the wall, waiting for him to come forward and open the door. 

The sound of water and the warmth of steam greeted her as he led her inside. She could tell he carried something in his other hand - whatever he left her to retrieve - but couldn't tell what. Briefly she wondered if this bath was much different from the one the acolytes used, if it was bigger or grander or in any way better than theirs, but the thought passed as quickly as it came once Jaqen brushed past her. 

"What are we doing here?" 

"A girl is filthy," he replied nonchalantly. Then, sounding bothered, "And I just got off a ship. Is this a problem?" 

Arya paused, wrapping her arms loosely around herself. "At the same time?" she asked, brows knitting together. 

"Can a girl see anything that might offend her?" Jaqen replied, and Arya could hear the teasing lilt in his voice as he did. 

"No," she muttered. 

"Then what is the problem?" He took a step forward and pressed a kiss to the top of her head before she had time to say anything, and Arya sighed heavily in surrender. She expected him to pull away, to hear the sound of heavy leather thudding to the floor, but instead he leaned down with his lips lingering near her ear. "Does a girl need help?" 

Arya's cheeks burned hot and her heart did a sudden flip in her chest. Swallowing thickly, she shook her head. "No." 

"Does she want it?" 

Never one to let anyone get the better of her, Arya pushed him away, frowning in his general direction, and reached out to find a wall or something to lean against. Her knees hit a bench before she found it and she dropped down, sliding her hands over the smooth wood beneath her. She heard him walk away, his boots sounding heavier on the floor in here than they did before. Arya untied her shoes and let them drop to the floor, listening to him make quick work of the buckles on the back of his boots as well. 

"I'm supposed to be dirty, you know," she said, wanting to hear him speak so she could gauge how far away he was. All the water in here made it hard to tell much of anything, for all the hollow echoes that sounded. "I'm a beggar." 

"Then a girl will learn to disguise herself without seeing. It is a good lesson to have, you will thank me." 

All she needed to know was that he was close enough to throw something at, and wondering how good her aim was, Arya picked up her shoe and hurled it across the room. She heard a thud and Jaqen swore - something in a language she didn't know yet - under his breath. Biting back a laugh, she ducked her head and started shrugging out of her clothes.

"Perhaps a girl isn't blind after all," he muttered. 

Arya smirked, "Perhaps a man just provides a big target." 

She heard him scoff at her and that, the sound of his insult, finally did her in. She nearly fell over in a fit of giggles. She couldn't remember the last time she laughed more than a brief snort or a chuckle at something and the momentary happiness made her flush with an entirely different kind of warmth. Jaqen made her laugh – no one else had done that since Syrio. She tried to compose herself again, turning her attention back to her clothes while she bit her lip to stifle more giggles. Arya rolled down her stockings, tugging them off and leaving them in a pile near her shoes, then tugged her shirt off over her head and dropped it in the same pile. She didn't think much at all about being undressed in front of him, if only because she couldn't see him in return, it wasn't until she stood to make her way over to the bath that she gave pause.

"Jaqen," she said, suddenly almost nervous, and reached out towards him. "I think I need you now." 

The sound of fabric falling to the floor was all that answered her at first, then his hand fell on her bare arm. She startled slightly, unaware that anyone could be so quiet as he was when he came to her. He pulled her back towards the door, pressing her hand to the doorframe.

"There," he said, "now feel back to the bench." 

She smoothed her hand along the wall, counting steps until the front of her knees hit the edge of the bench, then turned as Jaqen rest his hand on her shoulder. 

"Can you orient yourself?" he asked. She nodded. "Good, now walk."

A little apprehensive, she took a couple of steps forward, then stopped. "What if I drown?" 

"If a girl fears drowning, she should not be living in Braavos, I think." 

Arya nudged him with her elbow, suddenly aware that it was skin she brushed against and not leather or cloth. Her heart started to race again, but she continued to count, one foot in front of the other, until her toes felt the edge of the bath. Jaqen rest his hand on the curve of her waist and knelt with her as she carefully slid one foot down into the water. It was warmer than she expected, but not by much. She braced a hand on the side and Jaqen let his hands slip away from her as she carefully lowered herself in. She clung tightly to the edge of the bath, finding the very bottom with her toes, and waited to hear him slide in next to her. Instead, though, she heard the clack of rocks against each other and the sizzle of hot stone hitting water, then once more, close enough that she could feel the water warm around her. A moment later, the water rocked again, and Jaqen's toes brushed up against hers from the other side. 

Arya finally settled in, releasing her tight grip on the side of the bath and lowering herself down until the water wrapped around her shoulders. "My dance instructor told me once that the bravos all sit around in their big bath and compare wounds and battle stories," she said, sliding a tentatively closer to the warmer water. "Do you do that here?" 

Jaqen chuckled. "Wounds, yes. Battles, no. A man has no more need to remember those things than he does to remember his first face. These things are not for us to hold on to. But we do not lack for stories, or other tales to tell when our minds are not put towards our duties." 

"Will you tell me one?" she asked, splashing a bit of water towards him. 

"Clean first," he answered, splashing her back, "then we will see." 

"Why can't we do both?" she asked. 

Jaqen moved to brace his foot on the other side of the bath next to her, water dripping as he must have draped his arms across the ledge. "Just so," he answered. 

Smiling, Arya slid forward and was about to dunk under the water when Jaqen moved abruptly. She froze, startled, as his hand dove under the water to grab her foot and nudge it over a few inches. "A girl must be careful," he hissed, and Arya realized how close she'd come to stepping on the hot stones from the fire. Her heart thudding too-fast now, she slid over, fitting herself against the corner of the bath and reached out with both hands to find him. Her fingers barely brushed Jaqen's shoulder as he dipped down to move the stones safely away. 

"There," he breathed as he came back again, reaching past her before pressing a linen cloth into her hands. His wet fingers stroked gently along her jaw, briefly cuffing her chin, reassuring that she was safe now. 

Her fingers lingered on his arm until he was out of reach again, feeling him slide beneath the surface of the water, then reemerge, the sound of water splattering against the stone and wet hair slapping against his skin. She gripped the cloth in one hand and the edge of the bath with the other, lowering herself under next, and then slid her hands back through her hair – it had grown long again, and brushed her shoulders – as she came back up to press her back safely against the side. She had no idea what state she was in, but she scrubbed at her face and neck as well as she could, then started trying to rub the dirt of her hands. Jaqen was silent except for the sound the water made around him, and Arya put her mind to _not_ thinking too hard about what he was doing over there. It wan't that he was naked – because she'd seen a naked man before – but thinking too long about him _being_ naked seemed like invading his privacy. 

He must have caught her awkwardly fumbling, though, because the next thing Arya heard was Jaqen's wet cloth dropping on the side of the bath before he reached out through the water for her. "Come," he said again, amusement in his voice. "A girl is a mess." 

Arya slid forward until his hands settled on her waist and took the cloth from her, wringing it slightly and then reaching out to wipe the dirt from her face. His fingers were gentle around her eyes, brushing over her hairline and then over and behind her ears. She had no idea what to do with her hands while he worked and ended up letting them hang loosely at her side. He tilted her chin up, his hand wrapping carefully around the back of her neck, then scrubbed over her shoulders and collarbones, trailing off before he started down her chest. 

He turned her then, brushing wet hair off the back of her neck, his fingers working in the same combination of firmness and tenderness. As he worked down her back, Arya finally reached out, her hands settling on his knees, on either side of her legs. She didn't think they had ever been this close, and she was trying to push that thought out of her mind as well when his hand slipped around to sweep across her stomach and down the side of her leg. She shivered, grip tightening on his knees as she moved back just enough to feel the inside of his legs brush the outside of hers. It was his turn to pause then, and she felt him hesitate before his hands settled on her waist to hold her in place. 

"What?" she asked, worried she had done something wrong. 

"A girl does not know what she does," he murmured. 

That wasn't entirely untrue. She knew what she was doing but, at first at least, but what she didn't know was why that was a problem. She wanted to get closer to him. And she wasn't dumb, she'd lived long enough in Flea Bottom and spent enough time lingering around the courtesan houses here that she knew plenty - probably a lot more than her sister knew, but that was because Sansa was a lady and it was improper for ladies to know about things like that before their times. Arya wasn't a lady and she didn't see what was improper about it in the first place anyhow. But the rejection still stung strangely, and Arya wrapped her arms around herself to move back to the other side of the bath. 

She didn't even know the look she cast over her shoulder at him, but whatever slipped past that steely resolve of hers must have moved him, because Jaqen reached out for her arm again, halting her. 

"Stop," he said, sounding more than conflicted. "A girl is young – too young – for that." 

She wanted to fight and say that he was the one who started it, that this was all his idea, that he was the one who started touching her first, but instead she simply spat back, "I am not." 

"No?" Even still, his voice was hesitant.

"No," she responded, firmly. "I've seen girls younger than me married off to men older than you." 

"And a girl knows how old a man is?" 

Arya shrugged, "I know how old you _act_." 

She heard him huff softly, the grip on her arm loosening at the same time. "A girl must be certain," he said, his hands finding their way to her waist again. 

It was her turn to pause now, and she rest her hands on his arms under the water. She _was_ certain, and she knew why she wanted it too – she had plenty of time to think about why she missed him as much as she did, and why she wanted him so much now. "I'm supposed to forget my past, forget everything I left before I came here," she said. "But you're here now, so you're not part of my past anymore, you're part of my present, and you're all I have. I'm safe with you, I think you're the only one I've ever been safe with." 

Jaqen's hands slid slowly around to her waist, fingers splaying wide and drawing up her back. She felt another pang of regret and need, wanting so badly again to see his face – to know what he was thinking, what he wasn't saying to her now. He drew one hand out of the water, sliding along the side of her neck and into her hair. "As long as a man wears this face, and a girl wears hers, she does not have to worry about being in danger." 

"I know," she whispered, her hands coming up to brace on his shoulders. 

She could feel her heart beating in her throat, but felt horribly disoriented because she couldn't see him right there in front of her. This was the first time since waking up that first morning that she really felt her heart ache to see again, wanting to feel angry at whoever took this away from her. The only way she could see him was touching him, and her hands drew up along his neck to his jaw, brushing through the scruff there. Her fingers came to rest with her thumb just beneath his lower lip and, pooling all her bravery, Arya pressed forward into a kiss. 

It wasn't her first kiss, but it was the first one that felt like it meant anything. Her mother once told her that no one loved the person they were with at first, but Arya _was_ no one now, and she wondered if that's what this was – love. It was something, regardless, something that she couldn't even conceive before now, a twisting, fluttering feeling in her stomach. Jaqen drew her in against his chest, the inside of his thighs pressing against the outside of her hips. He moved slowly, with the same care he used to lead her to the side of the bath. He was guiding her here, again, slowly showing her where to move and how. Her hand slipped away from his jaw, arms wrapping around his shoulders while he gathered his arms around her waist.

When she finally pulled back she was breathless and dizzy, from both the kiss and the steam around them, which felt like it only got hotter in the last few minutes. She tipped her head forward to rest her forehead against his, close enough to feel him smile. 

"Should a man be jealous?" he asked, brushing his lips softly against hers again. 

Arya shook her head, holding tighter to him. "He'd have to have competition to be jealous of," she answered, "and no one can compete with you." 

He hummed, pleased, "We deprive the Red God of fitting sacrifice, then..."

"What a shame," she teased. 

She had to admit that the idea of him killing for her had thrilled her once, and it thrilled her again in a much deeper way now. There really was no one – though she bided her time and reacted at her own discretion to the attention directed at her by others – who could compare to him at all. But even if he felt deprived of some way to show his devotion to her, she had her reservations about giving him names. Names would take him away from her again and she needed him here, with her. 

Jaqen pressed another kiss to the corner of her mouth, then shifted her to the side so she could sit on his thigh, curled against his chest. He cradled her head against his shoulder, fingers stroking along the outside of her hip. 

"Does a girl still desire a story?" he asked, breaking the comfortable silence. 

Arya nodded against his shoulder, curling her fingers though his wet hair. "Of course," she said, "I'm not going to let you forget that you owe me one anyway."

He tightened his arm around her, pressing his other hand firmly against her hip, and tipped his head to the side to rest his cheek against the top of her head. "When I first came to Braavos," he started, "I was barely older than you are now, and I did not mean to end up here, in this temple, but a boy knows nothing of what the gods have in store for him. A boy has too many noble ideas about fighting for his family, and the god of his family. It was not as I wanted it." Jaqen paused briefly to slide his hair away from his face, then slid his arms more firmly around her again. "I picked a fight against a bravos," he said, "and lost." 

Arya couldn't imagine Jaqen ever losing a fight, but the more he spoke the more she realized that this wasn't just a story, it was another lesson. She stayed quiet, burrowing closer against him.

"The bravos who got me, he brought what remained of me here and left me propped there between your Stranger and the Maiden, and that is where I was found. A man took my life, and the Red God gave it back. So this is where I stayed, and I have never lost a fight since." 

"That's just because you haven't fought me yet," Arya smiled, tipping her head up to press her lips against his jaw. 

Jaqen hummed and turned his head to capture her lips quickly. "Just so," he murmured again. 

She'd never figure out what he meant when he said that, but it didn't seem to matter, she always understood his intent regardless. Arya wrapped her arms tighter around his shoulders, not realizing she was hugging him until she loosened her hold and rest her cheek against his shoulder again. She knew that the point of his story was to tell her that she belonged here, that everything driving her here was doing so for a greater purpose. 

"Did they give you this test too?" she asked, and Jaqen nodded in response. Arya clung tighter, "Were you afraid?" 

"Terrified," he said. 

If a man like Jaqen could be unsettled by losing his sight, Arya felt less uncertain about her own future. She had confidence that she would see it through, especially knowing that he went through the same and had gone on to become who he was – or wasn't, as the case might be – now. Everything he'd given her tonight, from the vow of safety to the unspoken promises whispered between where they touched and where they didn't, reassured her that she would come out the other side of this. She needed that comfort more than she could express, and she didn't think there was anyone but him who could give it to her. 

"I understand," she murmured.


End file.
